All About Fate
by chasehermes
Summary: Being an adult demigod, it turns out, is worse than facing Gaea when they were teenagers. / multiple pairings, future-fic.


**Author's Note**

Yes, I'm procrastinating, but no, I'm not guilty because House of Hades left me raw, and I know this is but a remedy for it. To be honest, I feel like Jeyna has sunk, but I don't really care about that. I'm still shipping (submarining, actually) it. It's my OTP (at least in the Percy Jackson fandom), and I could feel it running though my veins. Nevertheless, I also like Piper. I don't hate her. She's okay, so I'm not exactly sure yet how this will end up. Maybe Reyna will just be the queen and forget all boys, eh?

Anyway, I'll be writing this until the Blood of Olympus comes (when it's supposed to be released – I don't know). I hope you'd enjoy this! J Looking forward to what you have to say.

Takes place after the Giant war. Multi-chaptered fic. I'd probably update this every week, or so. Thanks for giving this a try!

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* * *

**I**

paper stars are all that's left

* * *

It's a Tuesday morning (she's surprised she knows this when all she's ever done is lock herself inside the Principia) when she sees him on the Garden of Bacchus, looking like he belongs there all along.

(He's like the faintest sliver of magic and everything good, and she can't help to think bitterly that Piper McLean is the luckiest girl in the world to have him right at her fingertips.) She watches curiously as he gives a slight smile and wave, and _why the Pluto is she feeling this wa-_

"Hey," he says casually.

She purses her lips, straightens her back, and acts like the queen she deems herself to be. (The world is mine, she whispers to the wind. May the gold fade, but the world beneath my feet is mine.) Still, she urges herself to fight the rush in her veins. It's like fire, she concludes, as she feels the flames rise and consume her. She clenches her fist, but puts a brave face on. She's not some petty character, she chides, tilting her head as she lets her fingers linger on the smooth, silky surface of her toga.

(Maybe, in another lifetime, he'd be hers, but she figures as much the Fates would never change her destiny, not that it would matter the slightest bit. She's come to accept they've hated her for so long.)

She holds her chin high and regards him. Not too coldly, she insists. She's a queen and queens are tough; they're like the flicker of light, a fleeting shadow – the faintest whisper of snow. She briefly remembers McLean, but she brushes the memory away with all she has. There's no use anyway. If she's to be Medea in this twisted love story, she'd rather kill the sheer emotion with all strength she has left.

"Jason," she greets.

She swivels her body a little as she proceeds to walk. Taking this walk isn't really the best of her ideas, especially seeing she's never even talked to him since the war has ended. Of course, he'll go to the garden of Bacchus. Her favorite place is no secret to him as it is to Annabeth. She has let them in too much.

So she continues to hold her gaze on the city below. She sees some legacies walking, laughing, and she feels her skin tingle even the slightest bit. Walking – no, flaunting is the better term – around these streets – it's not something she sees herself. Even if she loves her home – Camp Jupiter and New Rome alike – so much, she's never the one to settle down anyway.

"Is Frank doing okay?" he asks, settling on the bench beside her. "I haven't seen him yet. Hazel said he went to talk to some of the senators earlier this morning."

She nods and ignores the urge to jab him with her elbow and scream at him because gods, _she can't understand why she's treated like this_.

"He's doing well," she replies, carefully choosing the words. _Not as well as you though_. She curls her fist and forces herself to stay focused. It's a battle. She can't lose. Not again. "He still has plenty to learn, but that will come with time."

Jason shrugs (he's really a Greek now, she thinks to herself distastefully) and gives a carefree smile, from the periphery of her vision.

"That's good." He does this half-nod thing boys - _curse them _- seem to do a lot before continuing, "Oh yeah. Annabeth wanted to come, but she's spending the winter over with her family. She did say she's visiting during Spring break though." The thought of the daughter of Min- Athena, she corrects herself, always manages to calm her down. Perhaps, they could've been sisters, the family she didn't have. (At this she's envies the latter because she has a _family_.) Never has she met someone who could _truly _understand her. "I think she misses you. No one really understands her back at home–"

No.

"-even her siblings are at lost."

It's like thunder, she thinks dully. It's like the searing pain from the spear that ripped her apart nearly half a year ago. It's like forcing her eyes to keep the tears in when all she wants to do is cry – for Scipio and gods, for everything she's going through. _Why do they hate her _so, so _much? _She shifts her gaze, careful not to let the mask slip and proceeds to run her hand on the hem of her sleeve as if she's wiping some non-existent dust. It's too much. Too much.

"I see. Tell her I'm looking forward to her visit, then. I miss her company as well," she replies – and she wonders when her voice became so empty – as she proceeds to stand. She takes in Jason's confused look – too Greek, really too much of a Greek, she thinks bitterly – without so much of a care. She takes a few steps and within a few seconds she's nearly a few meters away.

"Reyna," Jason calls out. "Where are you going?"

She swivels and gives him a tiny smile – never will she let him know the pain he has caused, never – before gesturing towards the city below. _My people_, she tells herself, _They're my priority_. She'll bury all hopes of being happy because duty is her burden. It's always been and always will. She will never let her emotions get in the way, she swears.

"I have my duties to attend to, Jason," she replies idly, still keeping things in tact. _Duties you didn't want to take care of; duties Frank couldn't fulfill as well you used to._

He glances at her – his eyes are much bluer this time, she notices – and for a moment, she sees a flicker of - what was it? regret? If it had been regret, it's gone as soon as it appeared.

"Enjoy your day."

_She whispers it like a plea, a silent goodbye. _

To her defense, she doesn't know then that it is one.

* * *

(In retrospect, she's a coward, but aren't they all are? They're demigods for a reason. They run away from Fate, from the people they hurt, from the past, and from all the things to come and left behind. It's not destiny, it's being cowardly, it's being sane and insane right at the same time because as much as it pains her to admit, she still likes it. It's the only thing that makes her a human. She knows in her heart, if-

If she were to grasp the stars right there and then, she would've run away, so until the time when she has mustered enough strength to hold the stars, she'll be counting the paper stars she's stock beneath the corners and darkest, deepest crevices of her soul.)

After all, they're all that's left.

* * *

_to be continued._


End file.
